


there is very little left of me (and it's never coming back)

by hollowboness



Series: wear your silver lining [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dermatillomania, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jon is exhausted, M/M, Mild Blood, Paranoia, Sleepy Boys, i think, jane prentiss' attack, let the boys be soft, minor spoilers for s2, shit how do i tag?, sometime around s2, sorta - Freeform, un-betaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23099617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollowboness/pseuds/hollowboness
Summary: He hadn’t always been like this. Sure he picked at his skin but everyone did. Now though, now he did it obsessively.In which Jon has dermatillomania (skin picking disorder)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: wear your silver lining [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660045
Comments: 13
Kudos: 143





	there is very little left of me (and it's never coming back)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have dermatillomania so please tell me if I got something wrong, and as always, Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated (don't be afraid to ramble! I adore long comments!) oh also, this sorta spans s1 and s2? no clear timeline but not past s2 finale.
> 
> credit to this Tumblr post: https://redacted-metallum.tumblr.com/post/611162063276032000/thing-ive-been-thinking-about-jon-and-maybe-tim for the idea
> 
> title from Be Nice To Me by The Front Bottoms

It’d started in July when Jane attacked the institute. He’d never been on to pick at scabs, preferring to put a plaster over it and forget about it, these ones, however, the multitude of round scabs that covered his face, his arms, his chest and even a bit of his legs, he couldn’t seem to let these ones heal. Every time that one of them itched, he’d scratch it until it was bleeding, and then some.

He was smart and after a small, late-night rabbit hole, he found himself reading a half a dozen articles about a disorder called ‘dermatillomania’. It didn’t take much research for him to realize he had it, he even caught himself absently picking at his healing scars while he read.

At first, it wasn’t too bad, he was able to catch himself doing it, picking at his old scars whenever he started to feel itchy, and he was always able to stop. Of course, that didn’t last long.

As his paranoia got worse, so did the dermatillomania. He’d find himself picking at places he didn’t have scars like his calves, or his lips, or his scalp. He tried to stop but the more he repressed it, the worse the urge became, and the more the anxiety of not doing it weighed on him.

He’d find himself picking at his arms while recording his little hidden supplementals, or scratching obsessively at his thigh while waiting for his tea to steep, and at this point, he’d given up trying to stop. It didn’t seem like it was hurting him and he was far to busy to see a therapist, besides, he had more concerning things to focus on.

That is, until he doesn’t.

Due to a nasty combination of his never-ending paranoid research, his unsettling nightmares, and his increasingly worse eating habits, Martin decided he needed a break.

He strongly disagreed, insisting he work but Martin wouldn’t let him.

“Come on Jon, you won’t be any help if you drop dead from exhaustion, will you?”

“...fine,” he said if only to get Martin to leave him be.

Martin had gently taken him to the small room in the archives where he used to live, he gestured for Jon to sit on the small cot-like bed while he grabbed a fluffy blanket that he must’ve left here while he still used this room. Jon’s absolutely didn’t need to try and ignore the way his heart definitely did not do fond flips or the way his stomach surely didn’t feel filled with butterflies at Martin’s kindness towards him.

Jon didn’t notice when Martin left the room, too busy definitely not ignoring feelings that he definitely wasn’t feeling.

When Martin came back he had a mug of tea, but when he saw Jon, he ran and quickly put it down on the small nightstand, grabbing Jon’s hands and pulling them into his own, dropping the small facade of professionalism that was previously there.

Martin’s hands were big, bigger than his hands, his own hands were wiry, spindly, scarred… and bloody, shit. When did he get blood on his hands, how did he get blood on his hands?

“Jon, you’re bleeding, what happened?” Martin asked, snapping Jon out of his small spiral.

He quickly became aware of what was going on. The right side of his jaw felt hot and raw, if he focused he could even feel the scratches and the throbbing pain. He felt blood dripping down his jaw, onto his neck and shirt, leaving a warm, red trail as it went.

He realizes what he’s done. Though he’s not 100% sure, there’s nothing else it reasonably could’ve been. He must’ve been picking at his face.

It comes as a bit of a shock to Jon, he didn’t think it was that bad, he didn’t think he’d ever actually hurt himself. But here he is, his bloodied hands in Martins, and a trail of blood down his jaw and throat, slowly turning tacky.

“Jon? Jon are you ok?” Martin dropped Jon’s hands to instead moves Jon’s face to get a better look at what happened, “Oh Jon… Come with me, let’s get this cleaned up, yea?” he said gently.

Jon just nodded and slowly stood up as Martin walked them to the small, connected bathroom with a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

Martin grabbed a small handtowel off a rack and wet it in the sink before turning to face where Jon was, sitting on the closed toilet. He knelt in front of Jon so their eyes were more level.

“Um, your shirt… it’s, well it’s sorta got, some uh-” he gestured to the bloodstains on his right shoulder “do you want to change it? I’m sure there’s something laying around here… I did leave some stuff, like blankets and clothes, uh, just in case, y’know…” he anxiously trailed off.

Jon nodded, moving to unbutton his shirt. Martin’s face flushed (and Jon definitely ignored it) as he scurried out the room, presumably to grab a t-shirt.

When he returned, face still pink, Jon took the shirt from him and slipped it on, he quickly realized that this was Martin’s, as not only was it a few sizes too big, but it also smelled faintly of him, like sea salt breeze and old books, and something unmistakably human.

Martin wet the towel again and sat back down in front of Jon. He gently moved the Archivist’s head to more easily clean the area in question,

“Is this ok? If it’s not, I’ll just leave you here to do it yourself, I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of this, it’s just maybe you-”

“Martin, it’s fine”

“Oh. Right”

He continued his ministrations, gently dabbing at the cuts and carefully wiping the blood off of Jon’s neck. He’s surprisingly good at this, Jon thought perhaps he medically trained… he could tell his brain was about to go on a paranoid spiral and began to pick at the scars on his forearm, hardly even realizing he was doing it.

“Jon! Stop that, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Martin quickly intervened, grabbing Jon’s hands again.

“Right, sorry,”

“It’s alright just, that’s how this happened, isn’t it?” he said, gesturing to Jon’s jaw and cheek.

“Well, yea but-”

“So then don’t do it more, silly,” He said teasingly, but Jon easily picked up the concerned undertones

“Well, Martin it’s- it’s not really that simple.”

“Oh. Then… can you, try not to? Or at least not to do it so much you bleed, Jon, please?”

He sighed

“I suppose I can try.”

“Thank you,” he replied tenderly, before getting up and grabbing some plasters he brought with him, pulling out a large square one, and gently pressing it on to Jon’s cheek.

His hand stayed there, cupping Jon’s face for a few seconds before he stood and gestured for Jon to come back to the bed.

“I made you some chamomille tea, so you can get some rest, and I’ll be back here in like… 30 minutes, or 45 minutes to check on you, if that’s ok, of course.”

“Yes, that’s quite alright, Martin,” Jon said, nodding appreciatively.

Martin nodded back and quietly left the room.

***

When Martin came back 32 minutes later, he saw Jon under the fluffy blanket, sleeping.

He smiled fondly and allowed himself to indulge for a second, to imagine that the Archivist recuperated his feelings, and welcomed his affection instead of barely tolerating them.

“A man can dream” he whispered, barely loud enough for himself to hear, before closing the door again and returning to his desk.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come and chat with me on Tumblr! https://hollow-boness.tumblr.com/


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